Slit
by Soulreciever
Summary: for the first time in three years he felt truly at peace with himself. AU, dark themes, eventual TsuSoka.
1. slit

1. Slit

T: In which you are treated to a very dark AU which will piece itself together as we go along. Warnings of, AU, angst, dark themes, OOC, slash and other such bundles of fun! Everything in _italics_ is a flashback of some form or another. I own only the bits and pieces that are not canon.

* * *

The room was filled with steam so thick that he could feel the muscles in his eyes straining to focus on the objects clutched tightly within his hands. It aggravated him that he needed to pay such careful attention and yet he knew well how clumsy his hands could be, how even the briefest moment of distraction might lead to the blade hitting skin rather than well oiled stone.

Back and forth, back and forth, with each stroke he gets that little closer to attaining the only thing that he had every truly wanted. A spike of anticipation and, pre-empting the resulting tremble of his fingers, he sets his tools down onto the edge of the bath.

A deep inhalation of the steam's faint rose scent is enough to calm his mind once more and, as he sinks his naked body into the all but scolding bath water, he feels his muscles following in kind.

For the first time in ten years he is well and truly at peace with himself.

He allows himself time to saver this sensation and then he reaches again for the blade.

Another pause and then, with a long, confident, stroke, he slits his wrist.

Smiling his first and last true smile he closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable.

* * *

There are people talking somewhere to his left, their voices so very distant that, for an instant, he believes that their 'salvation' has come just too late. Yet as their words become clearer and he feels his eyes fighting to open he understands that this is not the case…understands that, once again, his one true desire has slipped free his grasp.

Fighting back the all too familiar mix of irritation and self revulsion he takes a deep, centring, breath, then slides his eyes open.

There are two men at the very end of the bed he is currently occupying, one wearing the traditional white coat of a doctor and the other a well worn suit jacket that speaks of an occupation somewhere in the financial sector.

They are currently engaged in what looks and sounds like a particularly heated debate and, having no desire to be as witness to any further violence, he gently clears his throat.

An instant later the doctor is there at his side a disturbingly chipper smile all but threatening to split his lips.

"How are you feeling, Takeshi-san?" He flinches at the use of that name and, as the doctor opens his mouth to apologise, to make things even worse, he makes a firm stopping gesture with his hand and says,

"I go by 'Hisoka' these days," before gesturing about him and enquiring, "As to the other…I am alive, aren't I?"

The doctor's smile vanishes at that, though whether for the annoyance of being met with a question to answer his own question or because he understands what such a response might mean, he is not yet certain. The latter would mean that this man was a great deal more intelligent than his face would leave to believe; that he would have to tread just that little softer if he was to gain his freedom with any sort of swiftness.

"The answer to that question is no, _Hisoka_" This last comes from the other gentleman and, fierce yet stunningly beautiful violet eyes ceasing his own, he adds, "You won."

It is the oddest of statements, not simply because it makes no logical sense but also because of the shear strength of understanding contained within it. Never before has someone used such words in such a way and, curious, his eyes stray to the skin at the other's wrists.

The left is just as a wrist should look; all beautifully sculpted bone and taught, faintly tanned, skin. The right is all but shrouded from view by a cheep, faux leather, watch strap and yet, if he strains his eyes just that little bit further, he can see the faint white pigment of scar tissue there against the tendons.

A rush of questions that he instinctively understands can not be asked just yet and a choice that has him instead asking,

"How can that be the case?"

Sighing the doctor flashes his companion a displeased glare before responding,

"This is the ministry of Hades, the institution set up to judge the sins of the dead. My companion and I are Shinigami of the summons department, charged with the task of collection those souls that go missing along the way."

"Then I'm here as a…client?"

"Ah, no…more like a new recruit." The doctor responds, his face lighting into another smile as he extends a hand and says, "I'm Watari and that's Tsuzuki."

Pointedly ignoring the hand he states simply,

"I did not ask for this."

"Perhaps not and yet there would have been good cause for you to have been given this 'second chance'…it's a 'gift' that's not bestowed lightly, after all." Again Tsuzuki has chosen his phrasing with the utmost care and, curious, he enquires,

"It's possible that this 'second chance' can be used as punishment, yes?"

"It's possible, yes," the other responds before adding, "though let's hope that it doesn't prove the case here,"

He wishes to explore that statement more, wishes to drain this intriguing individual for every inch of knowledge that he holds and yet…

"I think that's enough for today you two, it's been a long day for us all and even Shinigami need to recharge their 'batteries' every now and again," the one who had named himself Watari remarks as he makes a deliberate show of shooing Tsuzuki out of the room.

Pausing on the threshold he turns and, smile becoming impossibly wider he says simply, "It was nice meeting you…_Takeshi Katsurou_," before all but skipping away.

He is certain, simply for the tone that the other uses to utter that name, that there was some pure motivation behind the choice to do as such. Is certain that the other had not truly thought through _why_ he had been so very desperate to keep the air free of those syllables. However, knowing that truth does not stop the murderous rage or the simple want to take the doctor's throat in hand and squeeze. Nor does it stop the hard rush of memories or the dirty, sullied, feeling that accompanies them always.

* * *

_He wakes to the whisper of a hushed conversation somewhere just to his right and the sharp smell of disinfectant in his nose._

_His eyes feel heavy, something that makes it as the greatest effort to open them and the work of what seems like an age to actually get them to work with any sort of efficiency. _

_At first he can see only white and then harder edges of silver and finally the subtle blending of light and shadows combine together to form the familiar aspects of a hospital room. _

_The whispers cut off as his conscious state is registered and a brief instant later he is looking into the concerned eyes of his family doctor. _

"_Do you know me, Takeshi-san?" _

_Body tensing at that name, at this situation, he cautiously nods his head and smiling what he supposes is intended as an encouraging smile, the doctor then enquires, _

"_Do you know why you are here?"_

"_I must have had another of my turns…hurt myself as I fell." The lie is so well practiced that it feels almost as a truth even to himself and yet, for the very first time, the doctor does not accept the story._

"_Takeshi-san…Takeshi-san I'm afraid that something terrible has occurred."_

* * *

There is so much that they have not said to one another, the unspoken words as the thinnest wall there between them and yet…

It has been three years now since first they had met, since they're lives had been bonded together both by 'the job' and that other, unspoken, connection.

To begin with his new partner had been cold and diffident, only speaking to inform him of certain points of legislation or to confirm some small detail of the case they'd been working on. It was a distance that he'd welcomed at first, for he'd had no wish to accept this new reality nor it's permanency in his life.

As the months had rolled on and it'd become clear that he wasn't 'getting free' any time soon his curiosity had started to get the better of him and he'd asked simply,

"What did you mean by what you said that very first day, Tsuzuki?"

His partner had smiled an odd smile and responded,

"If your being here is meant as punishment then you shall never gain the release you so desire."

Somehow something in that statement had lifted a veil from his eyes and, more for confirmation than curiosity, he'd enquired,

"You have no desire to be free, do you?"

"No." Such a simple word and yet contained within it so very much more.

That word, that one moment of total honesty, had been as a bridge and suddenly Tsuzuki was no longer cold nor distant…suddenly he was treating him as a friend, then as a relative and now…

Sometimes he believes he is simply imagining it, that his own attraction to the elder Shinigami is making him interpret things in a manner other than had been their intent.

Then there are the times when the other leans just a little too close, or watches him just a moment more than is necessary…the times when his hands linger or it seems as though just the smallest of movements shall bring them together into a kiss.

It is a maddening, intoxicating, thing and he finds he has no want to break free of it…finds that he has become so very attached to the other that he would rather give up everything than see him hurt.

It frightens him to feel so very much for just one person, not simply because of how vulnerable it makes him but also because of…before…

This is why he keeps quite, why he shies away still from every touch and every moment that might shift into something else.

It is better, after all, that Tsuzuki learns to hate him, abandons him for someone oh so much more worthy.

Better that the other is kept at a distance…

* * *

T: I wanted Hisoka's 'true' name to read something along the lines of 'warrior son' or 'victorious son'…though being not Japanese I've had to piece something together from various 'kanji in this name means this' sights!


	2. Sew

2. Sew.

T: In which the warnings remain the same, everything in _italics_ is still flash back and I own only the bits and pieces that aren't canon.

* * *

_He is still just a little too young to understand why his mother never hugs him, or why his father acts always as though he is not there. He is, however, old enough to know that he loves his mother so very, very much and that she is frightened of his father._

_He wants to understand why this is, wants to understand the world he is living in just as much as any child of his age, yet even if he had the words to ask such a thing there is no one he can talk to._

_In the still of the night, once the lanterns have been snuffed and the servants have retuned to their own quarters, he prays fervently for a friend. It is such a simple prayer for always he asks only that this friend understand him completely, yet no matter the devotion he gives to the thing…no matter what he offers to the gods…his prayer remains unanswered. _

_Eventually, at the tender age of five, he comes to the conclusion that there is no god...that he is, indeed, all alone in the world. _

* * *

The wind shifts, just slightly, and he is very swiftly reminded that they are swiftly heading into winter. He shivers, despite himself and a warm, strong, arm is furling itself about his shoulder.

"You need to invest in a proper winter wardrobe." There is a smile there in his voice and he feels his own lips twitching in a desperate attempt to mirror that expression. Months of desperate training as well as a long engrained stubbornness prevent it from becoming anymore than that twitch and have him pushing himself back into the cold with only a simple,

"You're coddling me again."

Tsuzuki shrugs his shoulders then and he stares a moment at the poetic movement of cloth, muscle and sinew before he directs his eyes far, far away.

"Ah, there's our destination now." Following the line of his partner's finger he finds himself looking at what seems to be an all but desolate hospital.

"It seems a little…obvious…don't you think?"

"Ah that's because the rot's already set in, last year it was considered the best of the best." Tsuzuki remarks before enquiring, "Do you want me to check this place out while you do some asking around?"

The unspoken addition of 'I know how you feel about hospitals' frustrates him both because he little likes to be babied and also because it means he has not guarded himself as well as he had hoped.

Again fuelled by stubbornness he shakes his head, responds, "Two heads are better than one, Tsuzuki," and begins walking again before the other can put any more of a voice towards the concern clear still in his eyes.

The familiar drive of his most basic desire to 'prove himself' boys him enough that, for the first chunk of interviews at least, his mind is as focused as it would be at the start of any other assignment. It is not quite enough, however, to allow him to simply walk onto a working ward as though it is nothing, nor to prevent him from all but running back out into the open air with the flimsiest of cover stories.

It is a further ten minutes before Tsuzuki's weight is there at his side and he is enquiring,

"So do you fancy a trade?"

Of course the other has always been unpredictable at the best of times and, rather than give himself a headache chasing through possible reasons for the elder not chastising or questioning his actions, he simply enquires,

"What are you on about now?"

"A trade," The other responds before adding, "You tell me why someone who was so very eager to die is this uncomfortable around hospitals and I'll let you ask me something about me."

The smile that is there now on the other's lips is an unnerving thing and, all too aware of an awaiting 'landmine', he responds,

"I would have thought it obvious," laughing a suitably derisive laugh, he adds, "They kept me from what I wanted the most and so they make me feel…trapped…"

"Psychologically speaking the most logical response to a feeling of repression would be anger, of course not everyone reacts to trauma in the same fashion and yet even taking that into account your own reaction is…odd." A brief pause then, "What is it that you are so afraid of, Hisoka?"

"My past."

He is certain that if he were having this conversation with one of the other Shinigami they would be more than a little frustrated with what boiled down to poorly camouflaged brush-off and push him for more information. Tsuzuki, however, simply smiles one of his empty little smiles and asks,

"So what would you like to know?"

A thousand questions push at his throat, the desperate, clawing, want to know this man better almost palpable and yet…

He has decided already that it would be better to retain this distance between them, has decided that pulling closer to Tsuzuki would be as risking so much more than his past.

Also…

Also it does not seem fair to ask for something he, himself, was unwilling to give…to make a trade weighted solidly in his favour.

"You need to think less about others and more about yourself, Tsuzuki." He remarks before stepping a little from the other's presence and enquiring, "Who are we talking to next?"

* * *

_It has been a full minute since his mother had asked to be left alone with him, since she had settled her painfully thin body before him in a prostrate stance. _

_He is now 15 years old and the years of cold, clinical, care have taken their toll on his curiosity…have taught him that it is better to stay silent…to stay invisible._

_Thus he simply stares at the tips of his mother's all but skeletal fingers, waiting, patiently, for her to come to her senses and explain why she has done such a very shameful thing. _

_He does not have long to wait, for, after but another minute she raises herself back onto her knees and, dusting off her obi, says,_

"_I wish you to forgive my actions these long years, Katsurou…wish you to forget all that has gone before and look at me again as you did when you were a boy..." _

_There is a wild look there in her eyes and yet something in him leaps at those words…has him reaching across the divide to take her firmly into his arms._

_She feels…brittle... the rhythm of her heart as a wild thing against his own chest and yet…_

_She feels also warm and soft, the subtle scent of rose that lingers on her skin sparking faint memories that make him feel…safe…_

"_Mama." The word spills involuntarily from his lips and suddenly he is reminded of how silly this all is…is reminded that he is but a year away from becoming a man and the responsibilities that came with such a role. _

_He attempts to pull away from her grip and yet, with a strength that should be impossible, she keeps him close. _

"_Wait a moment more, Katsurou…there is something you have need to hear…"_

The subtle pressure of warm, firm, fingers upon his forearm start him from the (memory) nightmare and, without so much as opening his eyes, he enquires,

"Is something wrong, Tsuzuki?"

"You started screaming and I thought it was probably better to wake you before things got any worse and you hurt yourself."

"Thank you." They are such simple words even for him and yet, as he opens his eyes at last, he is greeted by an expression of pure joy.

Mumbling under his breath about childish partners he grabs his towel from its position next to his doorway and makes his way towards the shower.

Once cocooned within the familiar mix of steam and heat he allows his fingers the chance to ghost over his suicide scars.

The ritual is one that he has kept to from his very first assignment and serves to ground him back into reality…serves to remind him that _that time_ has now no influence upon him. Today, however, he is unsettled enough that it does not prove quite enough, that he finds himself constantly clawing for an excuse to touch the markings.

Of course Tsuzuki notices, the weight of those oh so beautiful eyes on him always as his fingers dip beneath the line of his sleeves. Yet it is only once they have stopped to take the smallest of breaks that the other enquires,

"Would it help to talk?"

Guilty still for his choices the day previous he musters what he hopes is a convincing smile and responds,

"Thank you, Tsuzuki, but I think not."

The other remains fixated on him for a few moments more and with a nod of his head, asks,

"Are you drawing the same conclusion from all of this that I am?"

"That the person doing this is someone on the inside?"

"It's a distressing thought but it's the only one that makes any sense when put together with the facts. This hospital is, at best, slip shot and it would be impossible for anyone on the outside to know just when a patient would be completely unattended…also…"

"After the first unusual death the staff would have been more vigilant and would have taken note of a stranger moving around."

"Precisely." There is a look now in his partner's eyes that he recognises well and he states simply,

"You have someone in mind, don't you?"

"The head of paediatrics."

"Because the victims are all under sixteen?"

"That and because of the way the other staff are whenever they're near the area."

"In which case why don't we go pay a visit and see what we can see?"

* * *

T: Next chapter ASAP.


	3. Sediment

4. Segment.

T: In which there is more threat of plot, warnings and _italics_ mean the same thing and I own only that which does not exist in cannon.

* * *

Tsuzuki comes to him in the end; though he can not quite decide if this is an action born of resignation or the loneliness clear there in his eyes.

"Would it help to talk?" The enquiry is a parroting of that which his partner had posed him what seemed a lifetime ago and, wan smile leaching onto his lips, Tsuzuki shakes his head,

"Too much has gotten tangled into it at the moment…give me a little time to sort the knots out and then who knows." He responds.

A moment of silence then he is settling at his side, the solid warmth of his presence making him feel both so very vulnerable and so very protected at the same time.

"Ask me something," The statement is accompanied by a certain look that assures him that there is an ulterior motive lurking somewhere in the background and, tilting his head slightly, he enquires,

"Why?"

"I need distracting." The _'from him' _that lingers, unspoken, at the end of the statement sullies the atmosphere and, in order to distract the both of them from this fact, he enquires,

"What were they like…your previous partners, I mean?"

A distance comes to Tsuzuki's eyes then and, his voice sounding oh so numb, he says,

"They were lost souls that sought redemption…absolution…and found only emptiness."

Looking at the man sat next to him in that one moment he felt such a wave of empathy…of understanding…that it felt almost as though he were looking at some manifestation of his own future self.

It is a sensation that fills him with such fear that, before he is quite aware of himself; he has pulled the elder into the firmest of embraces.

A tensing and for the briefest of instants he feels all but certain that he is to be pushed away. Then the other's arms are lifting to encircle him, fingers gripping tight in some impossible effort to pull him even closer.

* * *

_He is lost in some beautifully crafted world of fiction when a large, stumpy fingered, hand is thrust into his line of vision and a slightly accented voice is stating,_

"_Michale Tate, we spent a little time together when you were younger." _

_A sideways glance allows him to catch a face that tells well of a mixed parentage and a warm, sincere, smile that feels eerily familiar. _

"_My memory is not the best." He responds, deliberately making a show of turning the page of the book in the hopes of dissuading further conversation._

_Frustratingly this...person…seemed of the type to find some form of odd spur in such ploys and, flumping into the vacant chair opposite, he responds with a cheery, "So I hear," before he says, "Here's a quick refresher course for you! My father quit the FBI and shifted the whole family here with the thought of opening up his own detective business. The gamble paid off and he ran a very successful enterprise right up until he finally gave into my nagging and retired. _

"_His cases were my bedtime stories and, by the time I moved into my teens, I was what I believe is known as 'a bleeding heart'. In fact, once I hit the grand old age of 15 I began volunteering at all sorts of support groups…which is how I eventually met your mother._

"_Not through one of the groups, of course, she was too proud…too afraid…to actually ever put herself forward for something like that. No, I noticed her walking by one of the 'home bases' more than was necessary and, thinking myself some form of hero, put myself into her path and started a conversation…or at least attempted to._

"_Somehow we ended out as friends and, when she felt able, she told me her life story, introduced the two of us and asked me for one, very important, favour." _

_Something in the way he phrases those very last words catches at something and, all but tossing the book to one side, he enquires,_

"_We were coming to you, weren't we?"_

"_Yes."__ Such a simple response yet at the sound of it a fierce warmth runs through his heart and, for the very first time, he feels the desperate want to cry. _

_He can not...will not…expose such weakness in front of this stranger and, taking a deep, shaking, breath, he enquires, _

"_Why are you here?"_

_The predicted response of "I heard what had happened," then he begins reeling off words full of pity and a clear 'good Samaritan' edge that fits well his own, self confessed, affiliation with 'lost souls'. _

_He allows the words to wash around him, the base comfort of having some form of company, however unwelcome, serving well as first a distraction and then as a salve for the grief._

* * *

A better than expected nights sleep, the clean simplicity of a traditional breakfast and a long, hot, shower, prove invaluable in beginning to restore a sense of normality. He has only to catch his partner's eye to understand how false this sensation is and, desperate to make it as a reality, he enquires,

"Is there any hope of pinning these deaths onto him?"

A firm shake of the head and the explanation of, "He makes certain to only ever leave circumstantial evidence and tiny, insignificant, things to let me know that I'm seeing his handy work."

"Then do you think he is doing this simply for your sake?"

"I do not believe him the sort to act out of such shallow motivation, no matter how great his desire to catch and keep my attention."

"Then there is a pattern to each of the occasions that he has killed, something that might hint towards his true motivation and thus supply us with a new avenue of investigation?"

"Before this case I would have responded to that question with a very certain 'bio chemistry', for always before there has been an element of 'experimentation' lurking in the background. However…"

"Everything seems far too random for that to be the case."

Tsuzuki gives a small nod of the head to indicate that that had, indeed, been his particular conclusion and then, mouth setting into a firm line, he says,

"If we assume that he is indeed motivated by something that requires a need to experiment with such things, then we can also assume that we are currently missing something."

"Not every child that has been admitted to this hospital has died and so it is possible that there is a genetic abnormality at work here, one intriguing enough for him to wish to observe it at close quarters."

"In one of my previous cases he was using a proxy to kill people before their time and then leach their remaining life force in order that he might use it to extend his own. It is possible that he is again doing as such, children would be, after all, a particularly good source of energy."

"It is also possible that he is performing some kind of experiment on the children and that the illness which is killing the children is an adverse reaction to this fact."

"It seems that a little more research is in order." He remarks as he pulls his mobile from his pocket and, selecting a number, presses the device to his ear.

"Gushohin elder?....I need a favour…"

* * *

T: Apologies for the slightly shorter chapter this time around but this felt like the right place to stop as far as this chapter was concerned! Next one ASAP.


	4. Segment

4. Segment.

T: In which there is more threat of plot, warnings and _italics_ mean the same thing and I own only that which does not exist in cannon.

* * *

Tsuzuki comes to him in the end; though he can not quite decide if this is an action born of resignation or the loneliness clear there in his eyes.

"Would it help to talk?" The enquiry is a parroting of that which his partner had posed him what seemed a lifetime ago and, wan smile leaching onto his lips, Tsuzuki shakes his head,

"Too much has gotten tangled into it at the moment…give me a little time to sort the knots out and then who knows." He responds.

A moment of silence then he is settling at his side, the solid warmth of his presence making him feel both so very vulnerable and so very protected at the same time.

"Ask me something," The statement is accompanied by a certain look that assures him that there is an ulterior motive lurking somewhere in the background and, tilting his head slightly, he enquires,

"Why?"

"I need distracting." The _'from him' _that lingers, unspoken, at the end of the statement sullies the atmosphere and, in order to distract the both of them from this fact, he enquires,

"What were they like…your previous partners, I mean?"

A distance comes to Tsuzuki's eyes then and, his voice sounding oh so numb, he says,

"They were lost souls that sought redemption…absolution…and found only emptiness."

Looking at the man sat next to him in that one moment he felt such a wave of empathy…of understanding…that it felt almost as though he were looking at some manifestation of his own future self.

It is a sensation that fills him with such fear that, before he is quite aware of himself; he has pulled the elder into the firmest of embraces.

A tensing and for the briefest of instants he feels all but certain that he is to be pushed away. Then the other's arms are lifting to encircle him, fingers gripping tight in some impossible effort to pull him even closer.

* * *

_He is lost in some beautifully crafted world of fiction when a large, stumpy fingered, hand is thrust into his line of vision and a slightly accented voice is stating,_

"_Michale Tate, we spent a little time together when you were younger." _

_A sideways glance allows him to catch a face that tells well of a mixed parentage and a warm, sincere, smile that feels eerily familiar. _

"_My memory is not the best." He responds, deliberately making a show of turning the page of the book in the hopes of dissuading further conversation._

_Frustratingly this...person…seemed of the type to find some form of odd spur in such ploys and, flumping into the vacant chair opposite, he responds with a cheery, "So I hear," before he says, "Here's a quick refresher course for you! My father quit the FBI and shifted the whole family here with the thought of opening up his own detective business. The gamble paid off and he ran a very successful enterprise right up until he finally gave into my nagging and retired. _

"_His cases were my bedtime stories and, by the time I moved into my teens, I was what I believe is known as 'a bleeding heart'. In fact, once I hit the grand old age of 15 I began volunteering at all sorts of support groups…which is how I eventually met your mother._

"_Not through one of the groups, of course, she was too proud…too afraid…to actually ever put herself forward for something like that. No, I noticed her walking by one of the 'home bases' more than was necessary and, thinking myself some form of hero, put myself into her path and started a conversation…or at least attempted to._

"_Somehow we ended out as friends and, when she felt able, she told me her life story, introduced the two of us and asked me for one, very important, favour." _

_Something in the way he phrases those very last words catches at something and, all but tossing the book to one side, he enquires,_

"_We were coming to you, weren't we?"_

"_Yes."__ Such a simple response yet at the sound of it a fierce warmth runs through his heart and, for the very first time, he feels the desperate want to cry. _

_He can not...will not…expose such weakness in front of this stranger and, taking a deep, shaking, breath, he enquires, _

"_Why are you here?"_

_The predicted response of "I heard what had happened," then he begins reeling off words full of pity and a clear 'good Samaritan' edge that fits well his own, self confessed, affiliation with 'lost souls'. _

_He allows the words to wash around him, the base comfort of having some form of company, however unwelcome, serving well as first a distraction and then as a salve for the grief._

* * *

A better than expected nights sleep, the clean simplicity of a traditional breakfast and a long, hot, shower, prove invaluable in beginning to restore a sense of normality. He has only to catch his partner's eye to understand how false this sensation is and, desperate to make it as a reality, he enquires,

"Is there any hope of pinning these deaths onto him?"

A firm shake of the head and the explanation of, "He makes certain to only ever leave circumstantial evidence and tiny, insignificant, things to let me know that I'm seeing his handy work."

"Then do you think he is doing this simply for your sake?"

"I do not believe him the sort to act out of such shallow motivation, no matter how great his desire to catch and keep my attention."

"Then there is a pattern to each of the occasions that he has killed, something that might hint towards his true motivation and thus supply us with a new avenue of investigation?"

"Before this case I would have responded to that question with a very certain 'bio chemistry', for always before there has been an element of 'experimentation' lurking in the background. However…"

"Everything seems far too random for that to be the case."

Tsuzuki gives a small nod of the head to indicate that that had, indeed, been his particular conclusion and then, mouth setting into a firm line, he says,

"If we assume that he is indeed motivated by something that requires a need to experiment with such things, then we can also assume that we are currently missing something."

"Not every child that has been admitted to this hospital has died and so it is possible that there is a genetic abnormality at work here, one intriguing enough for him to wish to observe it at close quarters."

"In one of my previous cases he was using a proxy to kill people before their time and then leach their remaining life force in order that he might use it to extend his own. It is possible that he is again doing as such, children would be, after all, a particularly good source of energy."

"It is also possible that he is performing some kind of experiment on the children and that the illness which is killing the children is an adverse reaction to this fact."

"It seems that a little more research is in order." He remarks as he pulls his mobile from his pocket and, selecting a number, presses the device to his ear.

"Gushohin elder?....I need a favour…"

* * *

T: Apologies for the slightly shorter chapter this time around but this felt like the right place to stop as far as this chapter was concerned! Next one ASAP.


	5. Solitude

5. Solitude.

T: Extra warning of random psychobabble, otherwise this chapter contains the usual mix of angst, au, slash leanings etc. _Italics_ are flashes back into Hisoka's past. I still only own the bits and pieces that are not canon.

* * *

_A hand is lying but inches from his own, it is a hand that is well suited to its owner for it is, at first glance, just as any other hand and yet the more it is looked at…examined…the more it becomes something beyond the mundane. _

_This hand belongs to the first person that he had ever been __able to think of as 'friend', an attachment that was partially due to how very different the other was from himself and partially due to the connection he had to _before_._

_He knows that it was that connection that had first brought him to search the other out, knows that it is that connection that is still his strongest motivation for retaining the attachment…knows and is guilty always for that knowledge. _

"_Katsurou…" There is a note of dissatisfaction in his voice and he knows that, if he were to shift his vision just so, he would see that expression there also in the other's eyes. _

_Understanding how seeing such a look will affect him he keeps his eyes firmly on the other's hands as he states, _

"_I will not apologise, Mi-kun." _

"_What will it take for you to see that you need to let this go, Katsurou?"_

"_You don't understand."_

"_No, no you're right, I don't understand." He states before adding, "I don't understand why you think that any of this is helping…why you think you need to shoot yourself so full of drugs that you barely recall your own name or why you're chasing so hard after something that is so clearly dangerous." _

_A long, drawn silence, then he is enquiring,_

"_Do you think that this is what your mother would want for you?" _

"_That is not fair."_

"_No and yet it is all that I am left with."_

* * *

Carefully depositing three slim line books into Tsuzuki's awaiting fingers their guest states,

"Three of the best reference books on childhood illness, abnormalities and other such things,"

"Which are coming here through you because?" Tsuzuki poses the enquiry in such a manner as to suggest that it is almost rhetorical, something that he knows, beyond doubt, that their guest will also have seen and yet…

Not only does his face retain its usual expression of distanced dissatisfaction, but he also he seems to take time considering the eventual response of,

"I was coming here anyway and so offered to save Gushohin elder the journey."

"Then the case is being taken away from us, is it?"

"Not just yet."

"So you've come to spy then." It is a statement rather than an enquiry, something that shows a distinct level of distrust and that, intentionally or not, wounds their guest deeply.

It is something that is a clear show of how deeply the connection runs between his partner and this other, something that unsettles him just as every other tiny action that hints at a familiarity born of more than simply bumping into each other at work.

Again and again the desire to ask just why this closeness exists takes him and yet he has no right to pose such a question, nor indeed the want to open up what are clearly old and messy wounds.

Internally shaking such thoughts from his head he flashes Tsuzuki a look of displeasure and states,

"You are being unfair, Tsuzuki."

Glass framed blue eyes settle on him for a long moment then, the vaguest hint of a smile there at the edges of his mouth, their guest responds,

"Unfortunately he has somewhat of a point, Hisoka-san. I was, indeed, sent here to keep an eye on the two of you and yet not with the intent of 'spying'."

"So what was the intent, Tatsumi?" Tsuzuki enquires, the harshness leached, just slightly, from his voice.

"I believe Kanoe-kaichou wishes me to 'baby sit'."

Tsuzuki shakes his head at that and, stepping to one side, says,

"You'd best come in then."

After a few moments consideration Tatsumi settles himself at the desk shunted to one end of Tsuzuki's hotel room and begins absently riffling through the papers scattered, haphazardly, across the thing, an activity brought to a swift hault as Tsuzuki enquires,

"Can I get you something to drink?" It is, of course, little more than a conciliatory gesture and, more than likely understanding this fact, Tatsumi accepts it with a small, yet genuine, smile.

Three minutes later the other has been brought up to speed with their current line of thought and, brows creasing, he says,

"Of course you can discount this as a repeat of the Nagasaki killings without much hesitation."

"How so?"

"The man you have described to me before, Tsuzuki, would not make the mistake of killing in the same way twice. Not only does such a thing allow for people to start drawing connections between what are otherwise separated events, but it also gets people asking questions about the deaths. Why go to all the effort of covering over everything that would suggest foul play, to then draw very attention to that fact?"

"It's a good point." Tsuzuki remarks, before enquiring, "Do you have a theory on this one?"

"He's been leaving you hints of his presense rather than confronting you personally, correct?"

"Yes: a name on a passenger's list; a casual mention of a man with a missing eye; strands of impossibly silver hair…"

"It's something that leads me to believe that he's most likely been watching at the sidelines, not only in the hope of seeing your reactions , Tsuzuki-san, but also to admire his handwork."

"Something that could be born of narcissism or…"

"A desire to feel powerful." Tatsumi concludes, before stating, "Following such a hypothesis through an individual such as that would have no desire to study individuals suffering from a natural impairment. To see the horrors that nature can work without so much as breaths worth of effort from him would leave a sense of…insignificance…in his stomach."

"This leaves us only with the theory that he is choosing to deliberately experiment on the children," Tsuzuki states, before enquiring, "Any guesses as to why he would be doing such a thing?"

"No." The response is blunt, yet honest, and fingers tapping idly against his thigh, he states,

"I feel frustratingly as though we're missing something obvious here."

Eyes fixed onto his fingers Tsuzuki makes a noise of assent deep in his throat and, after a moment of tense silence, he says,

"He said something to me, way back in Nagasaki…at the time I didn't really think much of it and afterwards…"

Having no desire to let the other trap himself back up in the negative emotions contained in his first meeting with _that man_ he stretches to pat him once, in the very small of his back, before enquiring,

"What did he say, Tsuzuki?"

* * *

T: Again apologies for the cliff-hanger, I'd plead a convenient stopping point but this one is sort of deliberate! Update ASAP.


	6. Slaughter

6. Slaughter. 

T: Mentions here of basically all the cases that the boys encounter in the anime, though I've played with each enough that there shouldn't be too much in the way of spoilers. Other that this, however, the warnings remain as they were, _italics_, are still flashes into Hisoka's past and I still own nothing here that you've seen in either the anime or the manga.

* * *

"What did he say, Tsuzuki?"

"'Death should be nothing more than the body deciding that it is time to wind down.'" His partner responds, his voice dipping into a vague approximation of the doctor's voice.

The tingle of comprehension lurking, just out of reach, he enquires,

"Could you tell me of the specifics of the other cases he was involved in?"

"Our first contact with him was in Nagasaki and you know basically all there is to know about that case." Tsuzuki responds, taking a moment to shift, slightly, in his seat before he continues, "Next he once again used hypnosis, this time to convince an innocent girl that she had been responsible for the death of her closest friend."

"Why?"

"In order to shatter her mind and create a vengeful spirit who would dispose of the evidence of his dirty work for him." There is enough anger in Tsuzuki's voice, in his unique eyes, to have him enquiring,

"Did he manage to achieve that end?"

"Unfortunately so, the ship that had been the girl's home had been levelled already to the sea by the time I found her and the distress proved enough that she could only stumble out the briefest of explanations before it became too much…before she was begging for release." There is the hint of distress clear now in the other's voice and again he stretches the distance to offer some small comfort. His hands choosing, on this occasion, to tangle hard into the other's, the simple contact eliciting the smallest of smiles before Tsuzuki continues with, "Before she departed she managed to tell me of how much she had loved her sensei, of how jealous she was of the woman he had chosen…at first I could not believe that anyone could willingly tie their lives to his, could look at him and not see the shadows wrapped clear about him. But the more I looked into the matter the more I began to find and, just like that, I stumbled onto the next case….quite literally.

"I'd chased down his fiancé and had thought to talk to her a little, to try and find out why she was staying and perhaps talk her into leaving. However, when I arrived at her house there were police every where and a whole ream of crying relatives. Talking to a few of them I learned that she'd killed herself an action that'd, aparently, been somewhat out of character and yet no one seemed all that surprised. Subtly questioning lead me to discover that she'd suffered a long string of miscarriages…lead me directly towards once certain conclusion."

"Which was?"

"That he had been attempting to grow a child for them without using her womb, that he had kept the information from her and that it was this secret, along with the thought that he thought her somehow…less…than she should be which had driven her to take such a desperate act. It was a knowledge that made me angry to hear and as I stood there, heart filled simply with the want to hurt him for all the harm that he had caused, I came to the understanding that that was what he wished of me. Thus I simply handed to case to another Shinigami and walked away…denied him the satisfaction of my disgust.

"Finally there was Kyoto…a string of murders that, apart from one tiny detail, seemed entirely unconnected. In the end it was that detail, hair that had been clipped post mortem, that lead us to the break in the case and the single strand of silver hair left in the hand of one of the corpses that warned us that Muraki was lurking somewhere beneath it all."

"Yet you never saw him?"

"Not directly, no, though a few of the people we talked to as the case progressed described someone very much like him and I certainly felt as though I was being observed on more than one occasion." Tsuzuki shivers slightly at the memory of those phantom eyes and then says, "The hair was being used in the hopes of creating successful clones, not only of entire individuals but also of major organs. Sadly before we could learn any more about it than that, or even talk to the guy who was supposedly fronting the whole thing, there was a pretty bad fire.

"Of course the thought of arson came instantly to mind, especially with the episode of the Queen Camellia fresh still in our thoughts and yet there was never any hope of proving anything, especially with the authorities basically choosing to turn a blind eye rather than draw attention to the research that'd been going on in the lab." Taking a moment to allow his thoughts to run through his head Tsuzuki then says, "And that's basically all there is to know."

Mind whirling through the rush of information he begins to give voice to his train of thoughts,

"An interest in medical practices…a belief that death should simply be about a natural time limit…the replication of life…the attempt to create life…the use of lost life to fuel a living soul…" A sudden, strong, thought, occurs to him and, glancing up at Tsuzuki he enquires,

"Did the girl in the second case tell you why she believed herself responsible for her friend's death?"

"When I asked her she simply kept repeating the words 'Mai Bo' over and over"

Mai Bo…beating heart…as simple as that everything slides nicely into place and, feeling somewhat satisfied with himself, he says,

"The ship that was destroyed was most likely being used to transport black market organs, such as the heart that was keeping Tsuzuki's lost soul alive." He pauses in order to allow them to digest this information before stating, "Muraki is pursuing a way in which to make the human body invulnerable to everything other than a natural death."

He can see the both of them trailing through his logic; can see the same conclusion settling itself hard into their stomach.

"In other words our focus should not be on those that died but rather those that are still alive." Tsuzuki remarks, the spark of anger that lingers in his voice explained a moment later when he adds, "It is clear now that what we are witnessing is a clinical trial, that the children that have died are simply subjects that have reacted adversely to their 'medicine', while the survivors have 'responded well to treatment'"

"If we talk to them we might be able to gain a better handle on the precise nature of this 'clinical trial' and, from there, we might be able to find something that ties Muraki tightly to this matter…might finally be able to hold him accountable for his crimes." The words prompt the brightest of smiles from his partner and this time he does not fight the urge to mirror the expression.

The moment is, after all, so very fragile that to do as such would be as destroying it completely…would be as destroying the hope that has kindled there in his partner's eyes.

* * *

"_Wait a moment more, Katsurou…there is something you__ have need to hear…" She is trembling now and, almost instinctually, he stretches out to smooth her hair, to assure her that she is safe…loved. _

_She kisses his fingers and, settling them tight into her own she says, _

"_You had an older sister, a beautiful and placid child who was killed by your father when his anger became too much." Her breath hitches and, tears threatening her eyes, she says, "I was so afraid that if I loved you as I loved her then your fate would also be the same…that he would slaughter you simply to spite me."_

_Sudden understanding catches him then and, oh so gently, he lifts one sleeve of her kimono, exposes the mottled mass of scar tissue, bruising and skin far, far too pail. _

"_I have watched him about you these long years and now I understand that that was never his intent. That he wished you to hate me in order that he might twist you to his will…might make you think and act as if you were his double." Shivering she again catches his hands into hers and, eyes lit now with a fierce resolve, she says, "I will not allow such a thing to happen, will not allow him to taint your innocent soul any more than he has."_

_Something there in her voice has him asking, "Are we running away?" and, when she gives a gently affirmation, "When?"_

"_I am not yet certain." She responds, hands burying tight against his face as she adds, "It is better that you know no more than this, that you are still his to manipulate…otherwise…" she trails and as the confidence, the fervour, fade again into fear he makes himself a promise. _

* * *

A bit of simple computer hacking allows them to view their suspects schedule and thus time their next visit to the hospital as to avoid coming into any sort of contact with the other.

Tsuzuki's affable charm once again grants them access to the ward, the familiarity of their appearance as such that, almost the moment they are through the doors, they are waved over towards a bed. Shadowed eyes tell well of long, sleepless, nights and yet there is a smile lingering there at the edges of her lips that show that the worry that would have been at the heart of such a thing has, at last, passed.

"You're trying to find out why those poor mites died, aren't you?" Her sympathy is genuine and, eyes shifting to focus on her son's sleeping form a moment, she says, "It's such a terrible thing to happen to ones so very young."

Nodding Tsuzuki wordlessly settles into the chair at the other side of the bed and, glancing to its occupant, enquires, "Why is he here, then?" He is certain that if he, or any other individual, had asked so blunt and personable thing, there would have been a response of silence or anger.

As it is, however, the woman smiles a fragile smile and responds, "His organs were simply giving up on him," eyes clouding with the grief she would clearly have felt at that time she adds, "The doctor was all but numbering his days and then Muraki-sensei came to our rescue."

"Then your son wasn't originally one of Muraki's patience?"

"No, though it was the same for some of the other children as well."

"Oh?"

"Apparently he's been specialising his field, learning all there is to learn about the illness in the younger age groups. My boy is 10 so he doesn't really fit into that category, you see."

"Then how did he end out helping you?"

"My doctor mentioned Hiro's symptoms to him and, having treated something similar at his previous hospital, he asked if he might be allowed to try a few things."

"I see." There is an excitement in his partner's voice that tells that he too has seen how valuable this seemingly innocent information might be and, thanking the woman for the time, he gains his feet and all but runs to the next bed.

A short circuit about the room confirms the initial suspicion and, gesturing for him to follow, Tsuzuki walks back out into the hallway,

"The survivors are all part of the group that were not, originally, Muraki's patience."

"So we know that age is a factor, but…"

"We still don't know why he really took on the older children, or what, precisely, it is that he's doing to them."

"So we wait for visiting hours to end and then talk a little to the children."

"It's a very slim window of opportunity, Hisoka."

"I know, but it's all we've got."

A long, drawn, moment, then a nod of the head and,

"As we've a little time to kill why don't we go sample some of the local delicacies?"

"Fine, but you're explaining the added expense to Tatsumi when we get back to the hotel."

* * *

_He is carefully unpacking boxes when a faint, almost metallic, scent drifts into his nose. Brows furrowing he gains his feet and, walking in the direction of the kitchen, he enquires, _

"_What are you doing in there?" _

_There is a distant sound of some cheerful response and yet he does not register the words, registers only the thick, viscous, liquid spreading there before his feet. _

_Blood._

_Oh so much blood._

_He can feel the tempo of his heart pacing upwards, can feel the edges of reality twisting about him and, suddenly, he is again but 15._

_Is suddenly stood, once more, in front of what remains of his mother's body. _

_He had heard her scream…the sharp sound stirring him from a dream full of the life they were running towards…he had run, so fast that he had thought he was going to be sick… there had been the scent of blood in the air…blood seeping out from her bedroom door…blood coating her skin and the knife clutched still in his father's hands. _

_Rage takes him then and he feels himself screaming, feels his feet propelling himself forward. _

_Eyes that mirror his own turn to regard him a long, languid, moment and then, smile twisting onto those cold, cruel, lips, his father plunges the knife down into his own heart. _

_And just as suddenly he is 16 again, his body curled up against itself on the soft tatami of his new floor and his roommate crouched, worriedly, over him, _

"_Have you been skipping breakfast again?" he enquires as he offers out his hand._

_Shaking his head and, reflexively, curling that little bit further into himself he responds,_

"_No, Mi-chan, it's not that…I remember…I remember it all…"_

* * *

T: It's more than possible that I have the Chinese for 'beating heart' terribly wrong, my excuse being that there's only so much one can do with internet translators! Next chapter ASAP.


	7. Suicide

7. Suicide.

T: In which we have yet more random psychobabble, things get just a smidge darker and everything else remains as it was in previous chapters. _Italics_ are still flashes into Hisoka's Past and I still own only the bits and pieces that are not canon.

* * *

They wait until the night nurse has switched off the last of the lights in the ward and retired to her station, before making themselves visible once more.

Almost the instant they are exposed there is a muffled noise of distress and a petite hand is stretching out for the buzzer at it's bedside. Tsuzuki's long, delicate, fingers prevent them from reaching their destination and, voice little more than a whisper, he states,

"It's ok, we're not here to hurt you."

Covers shift downwards slightly and they are met with an inquisitive and somewhat sleep addled stare…

…are met with eyes that are as a perfect match to those that grace his partner's face.

He knows, far too well, how Tsuzuki views the beautiful shade of his eyes…knows that his partner has always felt that such a unique hue is as proof of his supposed daemon heritage.

That there are others who also bare such a mark should be as a dissolution of this theory, should be as a bolstering of Tsuzuki's self confidence, and yet…they have already established that these children are not as they were, that they have been subject to some unknown experimentation and it is also possible that the 'unnatural' colouration of this child's eyes is as an indication of this fact, is as a sign that she too is no longer 'human'.

The smile that is fixed, rigidly, to his partner's face tells nothing of which view he has taken and, before he is given chance to question the matter further, the child says, "Yes, I believe you," the smile that blooms onto her lips so innocent, so fragile, that he feels guilty for ever viewing her as anything other than the victim that she so clearly is.

"Will you tell me you're name?" Tsuzuki enquires, his own smile mellowing into the hollow façade that is as its natural state.

"Kitaki Kotori."

"I'm Tsuzuki and this is my friend Hisoka." Tsuzuki allows the child to process this new information before enquiring, "How are you feeling, Kotori-chan?"

Juvinile teeth worry a moment at perfectly formed lips and then she responds,

"Better, just like…" the rest of the thought dies in her throat and, visibly guilty, she says, "I promised I wouldn't tell."

"It's ok, Kotori, I know all about the medicine."

A long moment of silence as the child all but stares at his partner's face, most likely seeking some trace of a lie or a trick and then, smile once again in place she says,

"Angel-san said that it was like magic, that all we had to do was drink it and the pain would go away…that we'd never be sick again…he said that our mummies and daddies couldn't be told about it yet, that he wanted everything to be a surprise…." Suddenly all the cheer drains from her and, tears collecting at her cheeks, she says, "Some of the others started getting real sick and I was so scarred…angel-san told me that it'd be alright, that I'd be protected because I was loved by god…" The rest of the thought is lost in dry sobbing and, lifting the child into his arms, Tsuzuki does his best to comfort her.

Eventually she falls back into a dreamless sleep and, wordlessly, they move onto the next bed.

Each child gives them a very similar tale of events, each talking of the 'surprise' that their 'angel-san' had wished to give their parents and each citing the same unusual words of comfort from the other once the sickness had begun to settle in.

As the last child concludes their story he is struck with a vivid sense of disappointment. He knows that there is some innocuious clue bundled up with everything else, that there is something stupidly obvious staring them still in the face and yet…

Frustrated he shifts from his spot at Tsuzuki's side and begins to walk a slow circuit about the ward. Aimless his eyes move from bed to bed, his mind whirling with half formed thoughts and the black edges of memories that were better left forgotten.

A sudden, insignificant, detail catches at his eye and, mind lit by a sudden enthusiasm, he walks his circuit one more time.

By the time he reaches the bed at which Tsuzuki is currently settled, he is more than certain of what he has learned.

Feeling so very assured he states simply, "It's their blood…" before a bright flash interrupts the words before they can go any further.

He has time enough to feel curious, to watch his partner's face shift into a mask of horror, before everything stalls into darkness.

* * *

_For every breath he takes there is a mechanical rattle somewhere to his left, it is, along with the steady sound of the heart monitor, an __aggravating reminder that things are not as they should be. _

_There are eyes intent on him and yet, for the moment, he has nothing to say to the other. _

_He understands that there had been no maliciousness in the action, that the other had thought that he was 'saving' him and yet that understanding does little to temper the anger fierce there in his heart. _

"_You are free to hate me," the other remarks, his voice soft and oh so gentle, mostly likely out of fear of breaking him…of pushing him towards the same sort of action that has brought him here in the first place… "I want to understand why you did this, want you to talk to me…to trust me…" _

_The hitch in the other's voice sparks the recollection of the expression on his face as he had lifted him into his arms…as he had screamed at him to stay conscious…as he had begged him not to die. _

_He knows what such an expression means, understands far too well that the other has become a little too attached and that there is nothing he can do to change this fact. He also understands that he is not worthy of such devotion, understands that The Past has left scars so deep that they will never heal._

"_I want you to promise me that you will never do something like this again." The other remarks as he takes a hold of his hand, "Please, for my sake if not for your own, __Katsurou." _

_The sound of his name is so very hard to his ears, an alien thing full of so much that he wishes to forget...wishes to erase._

_A sudden, vivid, memory of his mother sparks, unbidden in his mind and, without thought, he lifts his mask and says, _

"_No, not that name, not any more…"_

_Fingers tighten and before the other can question or his mind is given the chance to see how very dangerous this is, he says, _

"_I am Hisoka now, Mi-chan." _

* * *

He does not even need to open his eyes to know what has happened…the memory of his partners face, of the look that'd been carved there, is fierce still in his memory, after all.

He understands, far too well, the psychology behind such an expression and thus understands that the thing Tsuzuki feared the most had occurred…understands that Muraki has snatched him away with the likely intent of hurting him in order to entice Tsuzuki out.

Upon opening his eyes he is greeted with a well lit room dotted with various pieces of medical equipment and the occasional jar filled with some preserved specimen or another. Sat in an expensive looking office chair, eyes trained on a microscope, is the doctor himself and, more to test the situation than anything else, he remarks,

"You're logic is a little misplaced."

A smile blooms onto the other's lips and, head lifting, he enquires,

"What logic would that be, Takeshi-san?"

He knows, simply for the look there in the other's one eye, that he has used that name deliberately, that he knows everything and is exposing this fact in the hopes of provoking a reaction.

Yet what would the point in such a thing be? Of what difference does it make to this person if he is broken…unless…

"You will never break him, Muraki."

The smile grows and, moving impossibly fast, he is suddenly there at his side, his hands lifting his chin in order that their gazes are locked into position.

"Such an assumption is your second mistake, Takeshi-san. It is crystal clear that if I were simply to end your life I would prompt Asato to respond in precisely the manner that I have been craving for so very long. That you believe this to be the reason that I brought you here is, logically, your first."

The words are a clear bate and yet, for the briefest of moments, he can not help but be curious nor suppress that emotion enough to keep it from registering in his face.

The doctor's smile spreads further and he is reminded, forcefully, of how his father had looked in his last moments, the un-welcome memory prompting him to flinch out of the other's grasp and earning him the emptiest of laughs.

"I understand oh so well what your life must have been, Takeshi-san, understand what it is to have so many eyes on you, watching…waiting." There is an edge to the words that unsettles him and for a moment he can think only of hypnotism, the recollection of what such a practice does to the mind swiftly dissuades this hypnoses and leaves, once more, at a loss.

The briefest of silences and then,

"My grandfather was the greatest of scientists, the shear strength of knowledge allowing him to perform feats that were well beyond their years. As such he was viewed always with untrusting eyes, his critics eagerly awaiting the day when the curtain fell and the truth behind his 'miracles' was exposed.

"It…unhinged…him and he began to seek ever wilder ways of proving himself, of showing that there was more to his work than insanity and trickery. The last of these in devours being the pursuit of immortality…the creation of 'the perfect body'.

"Such a thing proved beyond even his capacities and the failure drove him to commit ritual suicide. The notes that he left behind hint that he did as such with the hope of preventing the matter from going any further and yet, as you yourself should know well, mud sticks."

Again he flinches and again the doctor laughs, the sound still as hollow…as lifeless…as before,

"All of my life I have heard so many stories about the great Takeshi clan, about the massacres committed simply for the sake of a misplaced glance and how even the great emperor himself had prostrated himself before the feet of the clan head. How sad it is that, once more, the legends prove so much more than the reality."

A strong mix of anger and disgust swamps him and, before he can stop himself, he is voicing the enquiry of,

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you are have a fascinating mind, because there is a dormant strength there in your blood that I wish to explore and because it is no less than you deserve."

Such a simple statement and yet at the sound of it everything clicks solidly into place.

Muraki had discovered his Sin.

* * *

T: Next chapter asap.


	8. Shi ne

8. Shi ne.

T: In which there is a lot of exposition, things get a little fiercer in the angst department and, hopefully, a few questions are answered! _Italics_ are still Hisoka flashbacks and I still own only the bits that are not present in canon.

* * *

_The other retains the pretence still that everything is as it was, that he is not watching him always for a sign that he shall, once again, break his promise. That he has not been there at his side on three separate occasions, fingers gripping tight enough to bruise and mouth shaping words that are sounding increasingly hollow with each repetition. _

_He hints, all but daily, that he should find out the number of the psychiatrist they'd left behind in Iya, that perhaps talking things through would make things easier. __He ignores such nudges with the same simple ignorance that he uses to avoid the indirect questions that seem always to crop up in conversations these days. Questions that, along with the others care, balance just a little too close to the edge of his comfort zone. _

_No longer are things easy and carefree between them, the memories that the other invokes often…memories that had once been as the tether between them…things that he wishes to remain unspoken, buried away in the Past where they might one day be forgotten. _

_Michale will not, however, let go and for all the frustration that this stubbornness provokes there is an equal measure of intrigue…a desperate want to understand just why he is so very attached despite everything. _

"_He killed himself, you know." The words cut through the silence as affectively as the sharpest of knives, the lack of context sparking a frown and the enquiry of,_

"_What are you on about, Katsurou?" The choice of that name is a deliberate bate and, rather than responding to it, he replies, _

"_I know that everyone believes that I chose to forget what happened to my mother because of the part I played in the events of that evening…know that you too believe this to be the case despite claiming to know me better than any." _

_Guilt and, eyes at last moving from his own, he says,_

"_How could I believe anything but? How could I listen to you talk of the sort of man that your father was and still believe him capable of suicide?"_

"_He did it so that I could not, so that I would have to live my every moment knowing that I would never be able to avenge mama's death."_

_It is the first that he has ever voiced this truth and he feels neither liberated nor somehow better for the fact. Indeed as the pity blossoms in Michale's eyes and his mouth forms the enquiry of, "Is that what's behind the 'incidents'?" he bitterly regrets taking such a risk._

_Of course he would not understand, of course he would only see the clear path of logic rather than stretching that little bit further and coming upon the truth of it all. _

"_Get out." The words sound hard even to himself and yet he can not regret that fact, not when he knows it is the only hope of getting through to the other. _

_He shakes his head, says, "You do not know what you are saying," and then stretches to catch a hold of his arm._

_Only once before has someone held him in such a way, the memory so forcefully negative that he finds his anger getting the better of him…finds his free hand reaching up to curl hard into the other's left eye socket… _

* * *

"…how?" Of course he understands that the question, that the shear sense of loss…of being again powerless….is precisely what the Doctor had expected and yet he is now too tired to do anything other than allow himself to be guided.

"My psychotherapist and Mr Tate's believed that we might learn a little from each other, that perhaps in talking to someone else in a similar 'situation' we might somehow heal our scars and so they arranged a meeting."

"…then your own eye…"

"Years before doctors began to think the thoughts that would lead to IVF my grandfather gave a woman the son she had always desired. It should have been his greatest achievement and yet the child had only to open his eyes and suddenly he became the instrument behind grandfather's downfall.

"Those eyes became as a nightmare for my grandfather, the thing he feared beyond everything else and so when he saw them again…when he saw the adult that the child had become…his first thought was to destroy him.

"Yet the man was so very close to being the perfect being that swiftly those thoughts dissolved…swiftly they shifted into thoughts of using the man as a base from which he could achieve the 'miracle' of immortality.

"The man was more…unstable…than he had thought, however and killed himself before grandfather learned what he had wished to. Thus grandfather attempted to create copy of the man…" Trailing the doctor leans across him and, snatching a jar from the shelve above his head he says, "With both eyes I could never be anything other than a failed experiment and so I took the only logical action," before bringing the jar into his line of vision.

Suspended in the liquid within is an eye and as he stares at it, at its unmistakable violet hue, he feels just that little bit stronger.

It is, simply for the expression there on the other's face, another reaction that the doctor had predicted well and, placing the jar back onto it's shelf, he enquires,

"Are you truly stupid enough to believe that he will forgive you, Takeshi-san?"

"No and yet it does not matter."

"Ah, of course, you do not desire forgiveness…do not desire anything other than, perhaps, to be afforded a similar luxury as I."

Such a strange statement and yet he understands it instantly…understands that the Doctor truly does comprehend the heart of him and that such comprehension allows him still the upper hand.

He is still so very tired and yet he knows that he has to fight…has to claw back some semblance of control…if only for the sake of his partner.

"You talk of escaping your grandfather's shadow, of being a man in his own right and yet are you not carrying on his work?"

Again the smile stretches onto the Doctor's lips and nodding he responds,

"Yes, I believe it might seem as such to so very many and yet that is not, in fact, the case. Unlike my grandfather I can see well the part that mortality plays in our lives, can see well that removing it entirely would make our race even less than it is already.

"Yet to leave things as they are…to stand idle when so many innocents are dying needlessly…thus I took grandfather's theory and begun to amend it, begun to pursue invulnerability rather than immortality."

"Such a noble cause." He responds, before enquiring "What of the innocents that died in its pursuit?"

"Every war has its casualties, Takeshi-san."

Of course he had expected the apathy, yet that does not dull the anger he feels at the sound of it, nor the desperate desire to somehow stretch out and snap the Doctors neck…

…to end this madness once and for all.

"It seems I was in error, Takeshi-san." He states before adding, "You truly are your father's son."

And as easily as that all his control, all his desperate attempts to be someone other than 'his father's son', is lost to the black rage there at the heart of him.

As the rage becomes as a physical weapon there in his fingers, as the chains that'd bound him tight to the chair snap away as though they were made of little more than fog, he becomes lost to the memories.

_When he had first Remembered he had hated his father, had felt the utter uselessness that had been the object of that man's final act. _

_Oh so swiftly he had begun to hate himself, had begun to believe that if he had been just that little bit faster, just that little bit stronger, his mother might still be here at his side. _

_On the day that he had looked in the mirror and seen his father's face reflected there before him he'd understood what he had to do with that hate._

_Had understood that Takeshi Katsurou needed to die and, without another thought, he'd smashed the mirror and, with one of the shattered pieces, attempted to achieve that end. _

_He'd failed and yet there was a part of him that had not been sad at this fact, a part of him that wished still to live and experience all that life had to offer. _

_Yet he knew that Katsurou did not deserve such a thing, that a boy such as that deserved only death and so he renounced that name…took up the name of the sister that had died only because she had not been the heir that his father had so desired. _

_Had become 'Hisoka'_

_Of course Katsurou was there always at the back of his mind and, his hands slick with Michale's blood, he'd finally understood that he could never completely run away. _

_Understood that to make Hisoka truly worthy he needed to complete his unfinished task and so he had drawn himself a bath…had done what had needed to be done…_

"…soka? Hisoka, please, look at me." That voice…that beautiful voice…pulls him back to himself with a wrench and, as the ghosts of the Past again settle into the darkness, he tilts his head just slightly.

Tsuzuki looks tired, the dark circles under his eyes all the more powerful for their unique hue and the faint stain of tear tracks.

He wants to ask why the other is crying, wants to ask why there is blood there on his shirt and why the smell of the stuff is thick in his nose and yet he can not find his voice.

The distress of this fact must show clear in his eyes for, smiling that oh so gentle smile, the other says,

"It's ok, everything's going to be ok…just keep looking at me, ok?"

He attempts to nod, the fatigue that lies across him like a heavy weight turning the movement into little more than a further inclination of his head and yet, for the slight widening of his partner's smile, it is enough.

"I was so scared." Tsuzuki remarks as he begins to brush ideally at his hair, "so very scared."

* * *

T: Next chapter most certainly the last and out asap!


	9. Swipe

9. Swipe.

T: last chapter. Warnings and disclaimers as previous

* * *

Eventually Tsuzuki had lifted him up into his arms and transported into the familiar Puritanism of the bureaux's infirmary.

He'd lingered there at his side for much longer than was necessary, his eyes dark and his hands searching always for some point of contact.

Fatigue had caught him up in the end and, after almost tumbling from his chair; he'd retired to the comfort of his own bed.

The simple comfort of his presence, of the ghosts of his fingers there in his hair, lingers on and he clings to it as a child clinging to a security blanket.

The vestiges of the prideful man he had been before this day is shamed at this fact, at the weakness such an act shows and yet the greater part of him pays it no head, regards it simply as the natural need for comfort.

He drifts, for a while, on the edges of sleep, mind filled with questions to which he has no answer and a gnawing sensation of hollowness that will not go away.

Watari eventually stirs him back into true consciousness, hands and voice gentle as tests for both physical and mental injury.

Once assured that he is, for the most part, healing well, he settles down at his side and begins to fill in the missing gaps of time. Tells him of how the anger and the hatred that he had bottled up before death had become as a physical power afterwards, of how the Doctor had pushed him into using that power and of how that choice had almost killed the both of them.

There is an apology in the scientist's voice as he informs him that the doctor had managed to survive, that there had not been some good drawn out of the matter.

He'd managed to twitch his mouth into a semblance of a smile at that, had found the energy to voice some idle comfort or another and create the lie of everything being 'ok'. It is something that the Scientist does not quite believe and yet, most likely in deference to the effort, he leaves the matter alone.

The other talks to him then of simple things, the sound of his voice…the easy reminder that he is in the company of allies…lulling him into a deep, dreamless, sleep.

Tsuzuki is again at his side when he awakes, the fear and the guilt clear still in his ever expressive eyes.

Oh so gently he reaches out, hands settling to either side of his head and pulling just enough to bring their foreheads together. It is the simplest of gestures and yet it says so much more than words ever can, tells the other everything that he could ever have want to know.

Large, faintly calloused, hands cover his own a moment later and, smiling his oh so vulnerable smile, his partner shifts forward just slightly.

At the first ghost of those beautiful lips against his own he feels the numbness sweeping away, feels all his hopes and fears come swamping back with a force that is almost painful.

As he pulls the other tighter to him, grasps for every inch of contact that he can achieve, that pain is scorched away in the fire of his desire, leaving him only with the sense of completion...

…of coming home.

Eventually the other severs the contact and, voice rough and tight with so very many emotions he enquires,

"Will you tell me now?"

Fear, self doubt, guilt and the fractured remnants of stubborn pride almost having him responding to the negative, ending things before they have truly begun, but the look in Tsuzuki's eyes…the want to believe…wins over in the end.

Anticipation singing through his every nerve he takes a shaky breath and begins to tell his partner everything…begins the long, painful, journey of leaching the poison of his Past from his heart, in order that he might, at last, move on.

* * *

"…it's more that feasible that, with a little practice, you could start reading emotions!" There is a wide, wide, stretched across the scientist's face and, not having the heart to squash such intensive enthusiasm, as well as negate the hours of research that the other must have conducted, he smiles a tiny smile and enquires,

"Is that so?"

"Uh-huh, you see if you take the principles outline in Dr Macov's thesis on poltergeist…"

"Sorry to interrupt, Watari, but I need to steal Hisoka." Tsuzuki flashes the scientist an almost sincere smile and, tilting his head to one side, he enquires,

"New assignment?"

"Right, though it sounds as though it'll be a fairly simple one."

"Small mercies." The scientist retorts, before adding, "Come see me when you get back, bon, and I'll fill you in on the rest."

"Yeh, sure," the response is all but automated and, once out of earshot, he says, "Remind me to find some creative way out of that."

"He does it out of love, you know."

"Of course, otherwise I'd have splattered him across the walls of his lab by now!" The words provoke the expected laughter from the elder and, buoyed by the sound, he enquires, "So is there really an assignment or were you just doing your "knight in shining armour" bit?"

"Both," Tsuzuki responds as he passes over a case file.

He scans through the thing swiftly, years of practice allowing him to pick out relevant details with only the smallest of effort.

"Huh, you weren't kidding about it being simple."

"You sound almost disappointed."

"Right, 'cause I just don't get that sense of job satisfaction unless I'm dealing with psychopathic mass murderers."

Again Tsuzuki is laughing, something that, along with how very easy it has become to make light of _the incident_, is as a sure sign that things really are healing…that his trust in this man, in the love that they share, was so very well founded.

* * *

T: Apologies for the slightly clique end but I felt that poor Katsurou deserved it after everything he's been through! Hopefully you've enjoyed your stay in this little verse and feel somewhat satisfied by the trip!!


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